The New Kid
by Aerilon452
Summary: A/U: John is the new kid in High School and comes to the rescue of someone who he mistook for a girl being bullied.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: A/U John is the new kid and comes to the rescue of a someone he mistakes to be a girl

Disclaimer: I own nothing of BBC Sherlock

Rating: T+

Pairing: John and Sherlock

**THE NEW KID:**

It wasn't fun being the new kid in yet another school after yet another move. John Watson stood on the sidewalk looking up at the new high school he had to attend. The day was half done and lunch was upon them. John, as of yet, hadn't made a single friend. Everyone shied away from him like he had the plague or something. "Brilliant," he muttered ambling over to a tree trunk where he could lounge against the base of the tree and hopefully take a nap. He was bone weary already. As soon as he settled into a comfortable position John's attention was drawn to the sound of taunts and shouts being called out. He heard the words: Freak. Weirdo. Alien. John pulled himself up to go and investigate what he was hearing. When he turned the corner of a building he saw three teens lobbing insults at a girl sitting against eh brick wall. She seemed to not be paying attention them. Too bad John was. "Oi! Go on! Why don't you pick on someone who can handle themselves!" He shouted. The three large boys turned to him, but he wasn't backing down. John stared them down. He knew he didn't look like much, but he knew how to fight when the situation called for it. The boy in the middle gave him the finger and signaled his cronies to follow him.

Sherlock had been reading his book when the three bullies came over to him for their daily insult fest. A while ago he had learned to tune them out until they were just back ground noise to him. To Sherlock it was like having the tv on and not paying attention. At least he was able to tune them out until a new voice joined in. This voice was different, new, and it was getting them to stop. Sherlock didn't give the game away that he was now paying attention. Though the long spill of his hair he saw the blonde stranger. The boy his age was medium build, shaggy blonde hair, a lean waist, broad chest, and Sherlock could tell he had strong arms that would hold up in any fight. This boy was defending him. He was confused by that. Then, it occurred to Sherlock. The new kid might think he was a female. The hair, the slender build he was known to have fooled anyone at a distance until they were looking at him straight on. Sherlock turned his attention back to the three who regularly harassed them to see them moving away. Sherlock looked to the other boy walking towards him now.

John was never ceased to be amazed by the cruelty of other kids towards someone who was different. He quickly closed the distance between him and the girl sitting on the grass. "Hey," John crouched down in front of her and got a shock to the system. "You're not a girl." He stated. The boy before him was slender, frail almost, with harp cheek bones and full lips, bright blue eyes, and long dark brown hair that was curled lightly, naturally. How could he have thought this boy was a girl? John knew how. The pale skin, the hair, the way he had been sitting. It was beauty. The boy in front of him was beautiful. John like girls, he liked the female form, but this boy seemed to make all of his girlfriends pale in comparison. "Are you ok?" John asked standing up offering his hand to the other boy. He looked from John's hand to John's face with confusion coloring his perfect blue eyes, "What's the matter? It's a hand not a shark." John teased. "Come on," He wiggled his fingers, "The grounds cold anyway." This time the boy took his hand making John smile. "I'm John Watson." He introduced himself in a friendly voice with a smile on his lips. John pulled the other boy to his feet seeing that they were roughly the same height, only the fare skinned boy was half a head taller than him. "What's your name?"

Sherlock wasn't sure he should answer this boy named John Watson. But he did speak, "You were shocked I wasn't a girl? Why?" He asked. John went to open his mouth, but then closed it. "I'll tell you why." Sherlock said gently. "You have this protective streak in you geared towards women. You either have a mother or a sister that is being abused by a drunken father almost constantly. You want to do something but you can't because the father or the uncle is out of your weight class." Sherlock continued on and on with his deductions not seeing anger registering in John's eyes, but shame and that confirmed what was being said. The look made Sherlock stop, to close his mouth, and then to simply say, "Thank you for what you did, but it happens every day. I've learned to tune them out." His words washed over the other boy and the look of shame fled. Then he added, "I'm Sherlock."

"Sherlock," John muttered, "How did you know that?" His voice was small, making him seem younger than 18 years of age. Everything Sherlock had said was spot on right down to his mother being abused.

"I can smell the alcohol in your clothes." Sherlock answered looking away. Then, in a sudden burst of kindness, he was sure why, Sherlock suggested, "How about we skip the rest of the day?" Frankly he wasn't looking forward to going back into the pit of eternal despair filled with moronic students and stupid teachers and he really didn't want to run into his blustering brother Mycroft who undoubtedly would poke and prod him about the days name calling.

"Sure," John said hardly believing that he was still holding Sherlock's hand, but the warmth felt right somehow. "Can you not say…" Sherlock shook his head in silent agreement not to repeat what he had said. "Thanks." John breathed out with his hand still in Sherlock's. Their fingers were laced together with neither one of them noticing or trying to get free from the light hold. "Where are we going?"

Sherlock, keeping his hand in John's not wanting to pull away, said, "My house. It's not far from here." Still holding John's hand, Sherlock tugged him around the brick corner and towards the tree line that separated his large house and the school. Walking a trail he knew all too well, he made sure to traverse it at a reasonable pace so that John could follow him easily and not lose his grip on his hand. The trees grew thicker and then thinned out as Sherlock stepped out onto the manicured lawn of his back yard. The house on its best day was a tomb, but today, he could sense, it would feel different.

John looked at the massive house before him and couldn't help but say, "Wow…" He was in awe, "You live here?" Sherlock made a noise that he wasn't entirely pleased that he did so while John lived in a tiny house on the edge of town that was nearly falling apart. His family, father, mother, and sister, could move in there and not see each other for a week. "How many rooms do you have in that place?"

"There are 83 room, almost as many bathrooms, a parlor, sitting room, formal dining hall, a modern kitchen, pool off to the side," Sherlock motioned with his free hand in the general direction, "Plus a host of other rooms, even a massive library." The dark stone, at one time so depressing, seemed different today. "No one's home, no one ever is except for myself and my brother, and probably some servants." Sherlock shrugged. When the insults FREAK and WEIRDO didn't work, some of the other kids would call him privileged and that enraged Sherlock. He wasn't rich. His parents were. He just had the misfortune to be their son. He didn't want to be rich, but that was what he was. Grasping John's hand, he pulled him towards the back patio French doors. "Come on, I'll show you around."

John scoffed, "If someone gets lost in this mansion, you send out a search party right?" he asked. Unless he had a map and a compass John was never going to wander around that house. It was more than he was used to. He was from a low income family, but he went to a pricey school because of the military. After he graduated in a few months, he was joining the army to pay for medical school. Obediently he followed Sherlock to the polished and sparkling doors and inside to the immaculate interior. John made sure to shove his free hand in his pocket so he wouldn't touch anything.

Sherlock tugged John along through the kitchen and up the servant's stairs to where his large suite waited for him. Half of the room was hardly fit to be called a living space as he had half completed experiments, books, and a make shift lab put together. But, the bed, the couch were still somewhat usable. At least he thought they were. The couch might have a few bullet holes from one of his many experiments. Sherlock wasn't sure. Though, his mother could have replaced all of hi furniture, again, after the last mishap. "I should mention that my room…" he started to say as he pushed open the door.

"Is a certified disaster area," John finished after the door swung open. "How do you live in here without the fear that you may get crushed under a pile of books?" He inquired stepping into what should have been a very large bedroom and walking between two pillars of books. John eyed the books warning them with his brain not to fall and crush him to death. H wasn't sure what worried him the most, the books or that he was willing to get into a fight with three bullies over a boy he had thought was a girl.

"All these books are staked accordingly to size and weight." Sherlock answered absentmindedly navigating his way through the make-shift maze. Behind him, John's broad shoulder's clipped a stack of books making it teeter, nearly falling over. Sherlock spun, still holding John's hand, and placed his free hand on one of the many towers of books to keep it still. This put him dangerously close to John and the feeling of warmth flowing from his tanned companion and into him.

John's heart was in his throat. He should step back, risk an avalanche of books, but he had to move back. There was something in Sherlock's blue eyes that held him firmly in place. Instead he breathed out, dangerously close to Sherlock's mouth, "I'm not gay…' For some reason he felt he had to be clear on that fact. Sherlock didn't move back, didn't let go of his hand. Instead he moved closer just a fraction of an inch. It was then that he felt Sherlock's breath against his lips. More than anything, in this moment, he wanted to close the distance between them and start the kiss he knew was brewing between them. Why was it Sherlock?

Sherlock read the need in John's eyes knowing full well that his companion was not into other male, but that he was finding Sherlock very attractive. "Just relax.' He muttered taking steps back that would lead out of this maze of book pillars and to a more comfortable setting. This had to be John's choice. Normally Sherlock got the kind of intimate attention from another source, but they were paid and didn't linger to make small talk. "I won't do anything." He said quietly and John nodded. All of it had to be John's choice.

They were finally out of the maze of book pillars to see a deep leather couch, matching chair and love seat placed at a comfortable distance from a stone fireplace. Further away, resting against the wall John saw a large four poster bed with thick curtains in a deep maroon secured to each post just waiting to be free to block out the light of the floor to ceiling windows. For a minute he was relieved to have space to breathe, but the tension escalated the moment he sat on the couch. Sherlock perched on the dark wooden coffee table in front of him. John could hardly breathe again. "What's going to happen now?" John could barely ask, barely breathe with Sherlock, this kid he hardly knew, leaning closer to him.

"Whatever you want." Sherlock answered once more placing his hand in John's. "You can always say stop." He said. "Nothing will happen that you don't want to." Sherlock had never been interested in women, barely looked twice at men, but he did. Men just appealed to him. John appealed to him al it more than he should have. Why this new kid? Was it the thrill of a new conquest? Sherlock doubted it. He didn't think like that. Was it the blonde hair? Was it his lips? It was a mystery as to why this new kid brought out a new found lust stirring in his body.

"How come you don't have a girlfriend?" John asked suddenly. Sherlock was a classic gothic beauty with an air of sadness looming around him. It wouldn't surprise John that Sherlock would have wings sprout out of his back at any second, black wings. Black suits Sherlock. John wasn't sure why he knew what would suit Sherlock, but John just knew. John reached out and grasped Sherlock's wrist.

"Female's don't interest me," Sherlock answered, "But you interest me," He said angling his head to kiss John. At first John didn't respond giving Sherlock the second thought that he should pull back, but then John opened his mouth to him, to his tongue sweeping into John's mouth. The kiss was subtle, just a press of lips, but then it grew, heated. Sherlock moaned and then broke the connection. "You can always say stop." He repeated not wanting John to feel pressured into anything that would make him uncomfortable. Though, Sherlock was sure that John wouldn't stop.

"I don't want to," John said bringing his hands up to cup Sherlock's face. His heart fluttered at the thought of what he was about to do with a virtual stranger, boy no older than him. This time Sherlock stood and held out his hand to him. John took it, letting his body be pulled off the comfortable couch. Sherlock guided him to the bed. He felt this was going to be a good thing; something he was supposed to do. Perhaps coming to this school, scaring the bullies off, was supposed to happen to him. Willingly, he followed his delicate looking soon to be lover to the bed eager for what could happen.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. Chapter 2 rated M

Summary: A/U John is the new kid and comes to the rescue of a someone he mistakes to be a girl

Disclaimer: I own nothing of BBC Sherlock

Rating: M

Pairing: John and Sherlock

**THE NEW KID:**

John stood in front of Sherlock with the back of his knees touching the edge of the bed. He drew in ragged breaths as he watched Sherlock's long nimble fingers freeing each button on his shirt. Mentally, John cursed that he was wearing a flannel shirt and a white t-shirt underneath that. For his part, Sherlock was going slow, taking it easy on John, giving him time to decide if he wanted to run. John wasn't going to run. Yes, he was a male, and so was Sherlock, but there was something about the delicate looking boy that had him stopping to take notice. Sherlock was beautiful, having to yet grow into those well-defined cheekbones of his. Bringing his hands up, John cupped Sherlock's face again, allowing his thumbs to rub over said cheekbones. Now, his breathing evened out. John readily gave himself over to the strong thrum of desire coursing through his veins.

Sherlock concentrated on removing John's shirt. The flannel parted further and further apart with every button he freed. Underneath the flannel as a second layer, a white cotton shirt stretched across his well muscled chest. Pushing the long sleeved flannel shirt down John's arms it fell to the floor. Sherlock resisted licking his lips as his fingers itched to push the white fabric up and over John's blonde head. Giving in, he grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it up revealing lightly tanned skin with any chest hair. The further he pushed the shirt up, John was forced to take his hands from his face and hold them over his head. This time, Sherlock did lick his lips when he took the shirt from John's body. It, too, fluttered to the floor freeing him to place a gentle kiss to John's smooth, warm, and fantastically muscled chest. Finally, Sherlock put his hands to his virgin lover's waist.

John sucked in a sharp breath setting his hands to Sherlock's shirt mirroring his actions. One by one each button slipped free revealing perfect porcelain skin. His hands were shaking the further down he moved until all the buttons were freed and the black silk shirt was open. John set his trembling hands to Sherlock's soft, flat stomach and slid them up over his chest until the rested on his shoulders to push the fabric down so it pooled on the floor. Once more, John cupped Sherlock's face, only this time, his left thumb rubbed over Sherlock's bottom lip. He angled his head and kissed the young man in front of him. Passion flared into a raging pyre just from the touch of lips, the dancing of tongues tasting and teasing each other. Sherlock's fingers dug into John's hips pulling him closer until their skin was touching. It was as if a live wire touched him the moment Sherlock gasp, pressing more of his skin to John's.

Sherlock pulled back for much needed air, even though the thought of leaving John's lips was extremely annoying. He wanted to go on kissing the young man in front of him. There would be time for that, but now, Sherlock wanted to taste another part of John. Sherlock nudged John until he was sitting on the edge of the bed before he dropped to his knees to free the button of his faded blue jeans, lower the zipper. He licked his lips at the sight of the bulge tenting the blue and green checkered boxers. This time it was his hands that shook when he pulled the elastic down far enough for John's erection to bob free. Reaching out, his left hand grasped the velvety flesh stroking John a few times making him even harder. John was moaning, but Sherlock would ensure that before the day was done he would have him screaming in pleasure.

John watched paralyzed with fascination at Sherlock handling him with such skill that is wrenched a moan from deep within his chest. Only, this was not all that was going to happen to him. Sherlock's lips engulfed the swollen head of his manhood. The wet heat felt too good the further down Sherlock sank. John moaned again, louder this time, but he did not stop watching the man going down on him. Sherlock's lips slid down until all of John's hardened length was inside his mouth. The pale, dark haired angel paused a moment, before slowly bringing his head up nearly letting his length fall from between Sherlock's lips. Again Sherlock went down on him; again and again. Each time his pale skinned lover paused longer. John used his right hand, tangling his fingers in the silky curls; his intent was to guide Sherlock's movements.

Sherlock moaned at the feel of John's fingers tangling in his hair, but he would not take direction from someone who had not had the tender kiss of a man. Instead, he pulled back letting John's hard flesh fall from between his lips. John stared at him in awe letting his hand fall back to the mattress. Sherlock placed a lingering kiss to John's lower abdomen just below his navel where a thin trail of hair pointed like an arrow to the base of John's erection. Soon, Sherlock would take more time to taste him, but there were other things he wanted to do. He stood up and said, "Turn over." John rose as well, kicked off his shoes, but kept his pants open and loose around his hips. Before going to retrieve what he would need, Sherlock piled a few pillows up so John would be comfortable, or at least as comfortable as he could be for this next part.

For a minute John was confused. He wanted to go back to having Sherlock on his knees between his legs going down on him. Then he asked, "Should I…?" he motioned to his pants indicating if he was to take them off or leave them like they were with thick length hardening further with the cold kiss of air. Sherlock nodded, caressed his cheek, and then turned to a black trunk. As John pushed his jeans, his boxers, down he watched Sherlock opening the lid and picking out a bottle as well as a black device that he couldn't figure out what it was, but he had an idea what it was for. John's heart leapt in sudden unknown fear at what was going to happen to him next. He was determined to see this through. The pleasure he had already had from Sherlock's mouth alone was enough to keep him heading in this direction. Doing as he was told, John climbed up on the bed and put the pile of pillows under his stomach.

Sherlock turned with a bottle of soothing lubricant and a small anal plug that would stretch John's virginal opening. He stopped at the sight of John, rear end in the air, on his bed looking delectable. Sherlock knew this must have been how he looked his first time a few years ago. Shaking that thought from his head he strode back to the edge of the bed. He set the two items he had retrieved on the bed and then placed his hands, palm down, on John's rear end. His fingers dug in, massaged the tender flesh gently. "I want you to relax." Sherlock said leaning over and placing a light kiss to the middle of John's back. He moved away and picked up the bottle, popping the top. Up ending the bottle he squeezed some of the clear gel onto John's skin. With his right hand he spread John and worked the liquid in past the tight hole. John moaned in pain, his muscles tightening against the sudden intrusion. "Relax," Sherlock soothed slowly moving his finger in and out. "Just relax." He leaned over and kissed John's back.

John dug his fingers in the black bed spread trying o relax as Sherlock wanted him to, but he was becoming difficult to keep quiet. The feel of Sherlock's finger pushing into him was painful, his muscles protested, yet, there was this small trickle of pleasure. It was then that Sherlock removed his finger leaving behind a slight burning sensation from the unused muscles being stretched in a way he had never experienced before. John heard the pop of a lid being opened. He turned as best as he could to see Sherlock coating the black rubber object that was small at the tip and got wider at the base. Seeing that made John gulp and Sherlock look at him. "Do I dare ask?" His gothic angel offered in a small mischievous smile and moved to stand behind him again. He tried to crane hi neck back to watch Sherlock, but he wasn't that flexible. John took a deep breath, released it, and put his forehead to the blanket waiting for that first painful push of the black rubber.

Sherlock stood once more behind John. "Spread you legs a little bit more." He asked gently and then said, "And take a deep breath, then hold it," Sherlock added, relaying information that he had been given on his first time. John's legs opened more, exposing is lubed up tight opening to the light and his ribs expanded to show the deep breath he had taken. With great care Sherlock set the tip of the plug to John and pushed gently. John didn't cry out at first, but when Sherlock drew the plug out and pushed back in, this time more of it eased into his blonde lover, John whimpered. "It's ok," he soothed adding a slight twist of his wrist to work more of the black rubber into John and then he stopped. John's back tensed with more than half of the plug inside of him. "You're doing great." Sherlock praised placing a tender kiss to each perfect globe of John's rear end. Once again, he pulled the plug out and then slid it back in with more of the black rubber disappearing inside of John. Almost all of it was in. "Just a little bit more," Sherlock said slowly pushing the rest of the plug in to the hilt. The wide rectangular base kept John's cheeks apart wide the bulbous base stretched him.

John breathed out harshly having the strange object inside making his anus feel bigger than it should. Beside him the bed shifted as Sherlock was beside him resting his hand on his back and rubbing comforting circles. "Tell me you have been through this." John said trying to remain as still as he could. As he breathed he could feel what he only assumed was a plug move. It brought him pain from inexperience of having it inside and pleasure was soon chasing away the pain. Sherlock cast his eyes down but didn't stop moving his hand on John's back. "You have, haven't you?" John asked. Sherlock nodded, his eyes turning sad almost. This time, John wanted to do something for him to chase away the hint of sorrow. "Move in front of me." Sherlock said noting as he slid on the bed to lie in front of John. With as little movement as he could, John opened the front of Sherlock's pants to notice the lack of underwear. Sherlock's erection sprang free curving up to nearly touch the bottom of his navel; his new lover had an impressive length that suddenly John hungered to have in his mouth.

Sherlock turned on his side so John wouldn't have to move too much. He grasped his straining erection and held it to John's lips. John opened his mouth to envelope the hard, pre-cm weeping head, where his lips closed making him moan. The last time Sherlock's body demanded the pleasurable release had been five months ago, and it hadn't felt as good as it did right now. John was inexperienced; a virgin of sorts, and Sherlock was besotted already. Slowly he thrust in and out of John's mouth knowing that he couldn't take much of him. It was easier for him to go down on another man as Sherlock had no gag reflex. John was new at this. He was careful to keep that in mind as John reached his hand back to feel the plug, to move it, making him moan abound Sherlock's shaft. His head fell back, his eyes closing in a blinding pleasure. Faster and faster his hips moved. John shocked him again by taking more of his erection into his mouth. John moaned again gaining Sherlock's eyes. He could see John's hand, his fingers moving the black plug back and forth in time with his thrusts. The whole scene was enough to nearly make him cum. "Stop, John..." Sherlock gasped. He drew back, slipping his erection free of John's suddenly greedy mouth. "You surprise me… again," Sherlock praised brushing some of John's hair out of his face.

John let Sherlock slip from between his lips so he could plant his hands on the bed and go to his knees. At first the plug was painful but now it was a source of great pleasure. He could hardly recognize himself here, in this bed, with Sherlock; the young man he had thought was a girl. John Watson liked to spend his time in the company of girls his age, but there was something different about Sherlock, something that made John want him in the carnal sense. Again, he thought, why was this delicate feminine looking man so entrancing to him? John moved the pillows so that he was sitting astride them. That jarred the plug sending a jolt of pleasure through him as had his right hand grasping the base of his cock to stroke himself. Up and down, with a practiced hand, John made his shaft as hard as he could. Sherlock watched his hand with obvious pleasure coloring his perfect blue eyes. As he continued, John added a little thrust of his hips riding the plug deep in his ass. "I think I like you watching me." John gasped stroking himself faster.

Sherlock was frozen in place at the sight of John riding the pillows to make the plug move inside of him as he stroked his bulging cock with greater speed. He breathed in and out harder reaching down to take hold of his own hard manhood to stroke. John's muscles were bulging, to the point that he was close to coming. John was moving faster and faster on the pillows. His head was thrown back and his mouth was open in a silent show of moaning from all the pleasure he was causing himself. Sherlock wanted to watch that, to see the way his face contorted in self induced pleasure. While he gazed on, he worked his own erection, but slower. When he came, he wanted to be inside John feeling the way his newly stretched flesh closed over his hard erection. Sherlock drew his hand up lazily, added a twist of his wrist that he had seen John do, and then ran back down to the base.

John thrust his cock into the grasp of his hand a few more time before he came. The white fluid spurted out and coated the black sheets of Sherlock's bed. With the plug still inside of him, he fell back against the bed, drained of all of his strength for the moment. He was only able to turn his head to the side to see Sherlock smiling at him. "Did you enjoy that?" he asked his words slurring. Sherlock smiled and slid off the side of the bed to remove his dress pants. Then, he was right back on the bed moving between John's still parted legs. All he could do was watch as long nimble fingers touched him and then grasped the black plug to remove it. Slowly it slipped from John's stretched flesh bringing about another crushing wave of ecstasy that had his cock stirring. John sat up as bed as he could and watched Sherlock open a condom wrapper to role the protective rubber down his long thick shaft. Sherlock grabbed him behind the knees to yank him closer, the tip of his erection pressing against his anus ready to receive him deep inside.

Sherlock gave a little thrust of his hips, hard enough to push his head inside of John and then he stopped. Leaning over, he kissed John's quivering stomach and then said, "Deep breath." John did as he was told and took the deep breath. As he did so, Sherlock thrust inside of him all the way. Together they cried out loudly, but it did not keep Sherlock from moving, from pulling out and thrusting back in; a little harder this time. "Put your legs around me," His voice was a harsh moan. John did so and put his hand to Sherlock's shoulders to pull him up in close so they were almost touching. Sherlock wanted John's lips, so he took them. Fiercely. Passionately. Sherlock devoured John's moans that grew louder and louder. They were better than a fine wine. They ground down against each other. They feasted from each other's mouths riding wave after wave of inexplicable pleasure. Sherlock felt his balls tighten; the first signal of his impending release. That spurred him to move faster, moving in and out of John at a devils pace. Faster. Harder. Sherlock added a little twist that detonated his orgasm. He fell against John feeling his member twitching inside of his surprising love. John just held him and continued the kiss.

A FEW HOURS LATER:

John and Sherlock had dozed after a blinding orgasm and now John was watching is dark haired companion rest on his side with strands of dark hair cutting across his face. He reached out and brushed them away so he could admire Sherlock's graceful cheekbones. How could this young man look so delicate when he possessed such strength? John had never been so thoroughly dominated in all of his life. Normally, when he was with a woman, he was the one in control. But this, it was more than he thought possible. The pleasure had been mind blowing. John knew that now he had had a taste of Sherlock, he could hunger for more. That left a sour taste in his mouth all of a sudden. It wasn't that they had to face tomorrow. It wasn't even the thought of next week. It was the thought of graduation and John joining the army. Why was Sherlock brought into his life at a time like this? Was he meant to tempt John on a different path? John hoped not.

Sherlock could feel he was being watched. He opened his eyes to see a worrisome look on John's face. Normally he would dismiss it, but John was different for some reason. It made him ask, "What is it?" Sherlock sat up and placed his hand on John's chest. "Does what we did…?" he couldn't stand to ask the question after all of it felt so good. Sex was a bodily function to that he needed sometimes to function at peak performance. John eyes immediately scolded him for daring to suggest such a thing, but his lips would not form words. "Tell me… please," Sherlock was getting worried now and he didn't like the feeling.

John clarified something first before he got into the reason he looked sad, "I, loved, what we did. It was," He made a motion with his hands in search of a word, "Mind blowing." John arched is back and kissed Sherlock, "I'm leaving after graduation in a few months for the army." It was hard to say, but he had to let Sherlock know. "My goal in life is to be a doctor, and the army will help pay for my schooling. It's all arranged. I report for boot camp a few weeks after graduation." John was honest, as always. He continued, "I was wondering why you suddenly were put in my life on this day, but I'm glad you were." Tenderly he stroked Sherlock's cheek.

Suddenly a knock sounded breaking the bubble of euphoric bliss that had Sherlock shooting a glare in the general direction of the door. "Who is it?!" he called out and listened to the door open. Sherlock looked at John who had a streak of sudden nerves coloring his eyes. The person coming in would be one of four people; the housekeeper, the cook, his brother, or Mrs. Hudson, his mother's eyes and ears for the house. Coming from between the last stack of books was the last person he thought it to be. It was Mrs. Hudson. "Great…" He grumbled quickly pulling the blankets over him and john before she could walk closer to the bed and see them naked without a care in the world. Actually before the knock had sounded he had had thoughts towards taking John again.


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: A/U John is the new kid and comes to the rescue of a someone he mistakes to be a girl

Disclaimer: I own nothing of BBC Sherlock

Rating: T+

Pairing: John and Sherlock

**THE NEW KID:**

Mrs. Hudson had worked for the Holmes family since the boys were still in diapers. She knew them better than their own parents, especially Sherlock. After hearing suspicious sounds, she waited a polite amount of time before she came up the back stairs the youngest Holmes favorite and went to his door. Mrs. Hudson knocked sharply and then opened the door to proceed through the maze of books. Any library would be jealous at his collection. "Sherlock, its Mrs. Hudson." She could hear him mumble 'Great…' followed by a fluttering of a blanket. 'That boy…' Mrs. Hudson thought coming through the last arch of books to see the dark hairs young man practically naked, covered by the black silk blanket, and he was joined by another boy of the same age, only he was a blond, tan, and had more muscle than Sherlock. "Sherlock," she scolded gently, "Your parents are going to be home tonight. You will have to pay your companion and have him leave.

John was suddenly so confused as he looked at Sherlock. "She thinks I'm a hooker?" he pointed to the middle aged woman. "Lovely. I've never been called that before." John dropped back to the bed to look at the dark maroon canopy. Was Sherlock prone to bringing home male prostitutes because no one else would have him? What a lonely way to be loved by another human being. Maybe this was more meant to be than John realized.

"Unfortunately she does." Sherlock rolled his eyes getting out of bed. He picked up hi black silk sleep pants, pulled them up his long legs, and retrieved a black tank top from almost the same spot. He came around the bed to stand in front of the woman who had been hired to watch over him, "Mrs. Hudson, John," he pointed to his spectacular lover still lying on the bed looking at the ceiling, "Is not a prostitute, he is my guest. I met him at school." Sherlock explained glancing back at John who gave him a small smile.

"Oh…" Mrs. Hudson beamed at Sherlock. "Then get him dressed and bring your friend down stairs. I'm making dinner." Before Sherlock could reason his way out of it, like he always did, she turned on her heel and left him standing at the entrance two his self devised maze of the world's literature. Besides, she couldn't linger about up here arguing with him, she had dinner to finish preparing.

Sherlock shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. Mrs. Hudson really meant well. He appreciated that about her, and he admired the way he kept his business from becoming known by his parents. Going back to the bed he saw John trying to sit up, but his body was fighting him. "Stay still for a moment. Let me get you some comfortable clothes to wear." John relented, once more lying back on the bed. He moved away and to the other end of the room where dressers were pushed up against the wall. Sherlock pulled open one of the larger drawers, removed dark blue silk sleep pants. They would be a little longer on John, but he could roll the waist; it wouldn't be a problem. He pulled out a black t-shirt as well.

John stayed lying back on the bed as he listened to Sherlock moving around. This was truly a day of firsts. At lunch he tried to rescue a girl who turned out to be a very delicate looking guy. Then, with said guy, he skips the rest of his classes to go to his house. John is up in his room and is seduced into some mind blowing sex; doing things he never dreamed he would want to do. Then, to top it off, he was mistaken for a prostitute by a middle aged housekeeper. John started to laugh covering his eyes with the heel of his hands.

Sherlock came back to the bed drawn by John's laughter. It was gentle, deep, and still slightly childish. Reaching out, Sherlock placed his hand down on John's stomach. His beautiful companion for the afternoon looked at him and smiled at him. "I have some comfortable clothes for you." Sherlock muttered. John made a move to sit up but Sherlock stopped him. "You're shouldn't move too much." But John was already hissing in pain. "Here, let me help you." Sherlock moved towards John's feet and slipped the silk up his legs and up to his knees.

"Sherlock," John grumbled. He gritted his teeth and sat up, but immediately regretted doing so. The muscles of his backside screamed in agony from overuse. "Ok... I can use some help." Sherlock chuckled lightly slipping his arms around John's torso as he draped his arms over Sherlock's shoulders. Together they got him off the bed and standing with Sherlock pulling the silk up his legs. He pulled the ties tight around his hips and then rolled the waist down so John wouldn't trip over the hem of the pants when he walked. John took the shirt from Sherlock and pulled it over his head. It stretched over his broad chest; the cotton was soft and had the faint scent of Sherlock clinging to the fabric. "This is probably the wrong time to mention this but, uh," John chuckled at Sherlock's look, "I'm hungry." He took his arms from over Sherlock's shoulders.

Sherlock laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in weeks. "Then come on," He took John's hand again, "I'm sure there is some food we can abscond with and come back up here." There was no way on this green earth that he was going to sit at a table with his brother, with his parents, and have a polite dinner with them that included small talk layered with condescension for him and praise for Mycroft. Sherlock wanted to stay in his room, to stay with John just a little while longer.

John smiled tightening his hold on Sherlock's hand. "Lead the way then." He teased, "Because I know I would never find my way through that maze of yours." Sherlock scowled at him and shook his head muttering that it wasn't that hard to navigate. John couldn't help but laugh. If he was laughing, he wouldn't be dwelling on the fact that each time he moved he felt like he was being split open again. He had been so caught up in the moment, the flood of endorphins, that he hadn't given a second thought to the paint hat would manifest later. When they got to the stairs however John froze and groaned. To him, they looked like a treacherous mountain slope.

Sherlock looked back to John as he stepped down the first stair. "You'll be fine." He assured. "One step at a time," Sherlock tugged gently on John's hand urging him to take that first step. "Just grip my hand with each step." John too that first step and held his hand tightly, but he didn't cry out. Sherlock knew the intense discomfort that John was feeling as he had experienced it himself. Together, they took one step at a time until they were immerging into the kitchen to the mutterings of Mrs. Hudson as she labored over the stove.

John took the last step breathing a sigh of relief that he was standing on the ground floor inhaling the aromas of the kitchen. "Whatever that is, it smells really good." John's stomach growled then in appreciation. Mrs. Hudson turned and smiled at him motioning for them to head into the dining room. John looked at Sherlock to see his companion scowling. "What is it?" John asked looking in the same direction, this time hearing voices. "Should we go back upstairs?" John asked, but dreaded the idea of tackling the stairs again. He would if it would spare Sherlock.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock cringed at the sound of his brother's voice the moment Mycroft appeared in the doorway separating the kitchen from the small family dining room that was rarely used. His hand tightened on John's, finally remembering that he had yet to let go. "Mycroft," Sherlock greeted, barely restraining the snarl in his voice. "I didn't know you were home already." He said adding a sigh. On a normal day, he could tolerate his brother's presence, but not today, not while he was with John.

"Up to your usual habits brother?" Mycroft inquired. "How much did this one cost?" The blond looked annoyed. He looked at the blond gentleman recognizing him from the school. He was the new kid. To keep up the appearance of ignorance as the identity of the blond, Mycroft kept looking at him as if he was a prostitute. Sherlock had the proclivity of picking up professionals every so often and bringing them in to the house. It was more than he, or his parents, could take. His brother was doing this to act out.

John was getting tired of being thought of as a hooker, but just to shut the other one up he sneered, "More than you could afford or even handle." Taking his hand from Sherlock's, John draped it across his shoulder, molding against his side. He added an annoying glare, giving off the impression that he didn't like to talk about money. And then, to add insult to injury, John whispered, loudly, to Sherlock, "Come on, let's go back to bed. I believe there are still a few positions we have left to try."

Sherlock could barely restrain his broad smile. Playing along, to infuriate his brother, Sherlock turned and kissed John thoroughly. He heard Mycroft sigh, and a very feminine gasp fill the air. Sherlock broke the kiss to see his mother standing next to his brother. Her face read shock, anger, and disappointment. He was used to it. Sherlock was the strange one in the family. "Hello mother," Sherlock sighed. "You're actually home for once." He commented in a voice that carried a veiled insult. "This is John, I know him from school. He's my friend." Rather than wait for whatever his mother could possibly say, Sherlock turned back towards the back stairs with John's hand still in his.

John grit his teeth and kept pace with Sherlock, running with him up the stairs. His anal muscles protested violently with every step he took. He was happy to see Sherlock's door. It opened and they disappeared inside. John leaned against the closed door resisting the urge to put on hand to his ass. "What was that about?" His voice was strained gaining Sherlock's look.

"Oh, John…" Sherlock read the look of unease in John's face knowing that the run up the steps hadn't felt good. He came against John's body, rather than talking, he kissed his blond companion. John didn't fight him, he put his arms around Sherlock's waist. The kiss was sweet, apologetic for the pain he unintentionally inflicted on John. He couldn't say he was sorry. He never said it. The words stuck in his throat. Sherlock knew the best way was to show it rather than say it.

John broke the kiss, dragged in air as the pain fled from him. Desire stirred. "It's ok." He gasped moving his lips to kiss Sherlock's cheek. "Let's just go and lie down." John said. Sherlock smirked grapping the front of his shirt to pull him through the maze back to the bed. "I's got to make a map of this maze." John joked. He looked at the books seeing volumes of detective novels, anatomy books, books on famous murderers, and various other subjects. John even saw a few chemistry books dotted about. As they immerged from the maze Sherlock looked at the desk where newspapers were scattered about. Letting go of Sherlock's hand once more, he went over to pick up one of the papers. The headline was talking about a teen who had drowned in a pool; a champion swimmer had drowned. "How ironic is that? A swimmer drowning in a pool."

Sherlock felt mild panic rise in his chest when John spoke. One of his many habits was detective work. Sever times he had called the police telling them about the shoes that were nowhere to find, but as usual, the police didn't want to listen to a teen who had no experience. "That's Carl Powers. He drowned in a pool. The police say it was an accident, but they failed to find his shoes." John looked confused and Sherlock tried again. "Who comes into London for a swimming tournament without shoes? The rest of his clothes were found in the locker, but not his shoes." Sherlock sighed, "I tried pointing that out to the police, but they wouldn't listen to me."

"Grown-ups do that I've found." John said setting the paper back on the desk. "Is that what you want to do? Be a detective?" He strolled over to the bed and picked up the plug that was still on the bed. 'It's hard to believe that was all the way in my ass.' John thought with a small chuckle as he turned back to Sherlock. There was a curiously confused expression playing along his face. "What? Did I ask something wrong?"

"No," Sherlock shook his head, "No one has ever asked me what I wanted before." He sighed closing the distance between them. "I want to be the world's only consulting detective." Sherlock answered reaching out to take the black rubber plug from John. "Mainly I solve cases that stump the police force. I've proved my intellect already, but no one will listen." He added and then he muttered. "No one ever listens to me."

John cupped Sherlock's face. "I listen." He said with a gentle smile. "Do you want me to stay?" John wasn't sure if he was asking for the night or for after graduation. There were other ways to be a doctor. He would just have to work harder and apply for all the grants he could think of. Sherlock answered with his eyes as his lips quivered. How could someone so smart not know how to ask for what he wants? "I'll stay with you." If he stayed he would be saved from having to go home to a drunk father, a crying mother, and a sister who was becoming their father.

"You don't want to go home." Sherlock said. "You never want to go home." He brought his hands up to cup John's face as well. "I do want… you… to stay." He confirmed. John was so knew, and yet so familiar at the same time. This time when he leaned in, John met him half way as they kissed, just as sweetly as before. Sherlock wanted to have sex with John again. "What is it about you that makes me impossibly hard?"

"I don't know." John chuckled. He took the plug and held it up saying, "This time I want to put this in you." Sherlock's eyes lit up with excitement. "Though, why do I get the feeling that you take a bigger one than this?" This young man made him want to experience another side to himself that he had no idea existed. "And I want you to screw me again while that plug is deep inside of you." Sherlock gasped against John's lips. He was getting his gothic angel excited and he loved it. "Let's pick one out." John chuckled wickedly pulling Sherlock over to the big black trunk under the window.

**TO BE CONTINUED:**


	4. Chapter 4 rated M

Summary: A/U John is the new kid and comes to the rescue of a someone he mistakes to be a girl

Disclaimer: I own nothing of BBC Sherlock

Rating: T+

Pairing: John and Sherlock

**THE NEW KID:**

John stood with Sherlock at the black trunk that had more than its fair share of sex items. Some of the items he could name, but most he wouldn't want to. It was hard to believe that Sherlock would have things like this, and at the same time, John couldn't imagine this trunk holding anything else. He stood by while Sherlock put thought into what he was going to choose as if it had been a long while. John peeled off his borrowed t-shirt, folded it, and set it neatly on the desk over a paper that read, "The Science of Deduction: Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective." John smiled shaking his head. When he turned back, Sherlock was holding a black dildo with bumps molded into the stalk. Lightly Sherlock hefted the weight in his hand as if he was still deciding if this was the one he wanted. John still couldn't believe what he was doing, but he was enjoying every minute of it.

Sherlock pawed through the trunk of toys that he had bought solely to annoy his brother and to shock is parents, but as the time went on Sherlock had come to use each item only once. All, except, the item in his hand. It had been in here mocking him, taunting him to be used, but he hadn't gotten round to it until today; until he had met John. When he looked up John was looked at the toy in his hand and to shock him, Sherlock teased, "I've taken bigger." He smirked and then went to John placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Come, I'm eager, all over again." Sherlock purred curling the fingers of his free hand in the waist band of John's pants to tug his blonde lover back to the bed.

John went with Sherlock eagerly, thrilled at the idea of what was about to happen. Sherlock stopped at the bed and then turned around. He pulled his tank top off, tossing it to the other side of the bed. Then he pushed down the silk sleep pants. John couldn't resist. He wouldn't. His hands slipped over Sherlock's hips pulling him back against him for a moment. Sherlock angled his head back giving John the ability to take his lips. Power flared through him at the contact; dominance roiled through him. Taking his lips from Sherlock's, John pushed him down until his hands were palm down to the bed. He set his hands to Sherlock's backside and squeezed. His gothic lover moaned leaving John to reach for the bottle of lubricant. Popping the top, John up ended the bottle and squeezed the white gel onto the crevice of Sherlock's perfect back side. Mimicking what Sherlock had done, John worked the gel in, slipping his middle finger inside feeling no resistance. Not like him. Sherlock was used to this. John slowly moved his finger in and out, working more of the gel in.

Sherlock moaned, his muscles relaxing with ease at the intrusion of John's finger. He could feel that John was trying to mimic most of his movements. Staying still, Sherlock was going to keep his mouth shut except to moan in pleasure. His lover moved his finger in a slow circle that had him growling in delight. Sherlock could feel his hole being coated with the gel and couldn't wait for the next phase. All too soon, John removed his finger leaving Sherlock on the bed to wait and listen. The pop top clicked signaling that John was squeezing more of the gel, this time onto the black rubber. It was then that Sherlock felt the pointed tip press into him. Instinctually he arched his back ready to be penetrated. There was a tentative push that didn't enter him. Then there was another one and this time, the head slid easily into him wringing a moan out from behind his lips. A slight twist of the wrist and more was pushed into him up to the first small bump. John pulled the toy almost all the way out, pushed back in past the first bump. Sherlock dropped his head moaning louder than he normally would have. This time when the push came, Sherlock arched his back, grinding down on the hard phallus taking even more of it into him, past the second knot and nearly to the third.

John froze at the sight of Sherlock pressing back, taking more of the phallus. Pale flesh devoured black rubber in a slow sensuous slide. John was enraptured with all that Sherlock had shown him today. Still his movements, he leaned over placing a gentle kiss to Sherlock's lower back feeling the perfect soft flesh touch his lips. Taking is hand from the base of the dildo, John placed the bottom of the slickened rubber right above his responding member, and pushed the rest of it into Sherlock. John moaned when his lover pushed back against him and his back touched John's chest.

Sherlock gulped down air feeling his back channel stuffed with the black phallus and the hot touch of John's touch against his back. "Now… what?" He managed to gasp while rocking gently to move the toy inside of him. John's hands slid teasingly down his chest, over his stomach, and down between his legs where he stroked Sherlock until he was even harder than before. John's hands were wet; they were coating him with lube. For a moment Sherlock was confused as to what was going to happen next. John kissed the side of his neck, nipped and scraped his teeth up to nip his ear lobe.

"I want you to take me," John growled stroking Sherlock quicker. "I want you to fill me with your cock," He knocked his groin into the phallus sending a sharp zing of pleasure racing through Sherlock. "While this is inside of you." He moaned at the anticipation of Sherlock taking him again. This time Sherlock turned, putting his hands on John's backside. John bit his bottom lip when Sherlock's finger slid between his cheeks and into his waiting entrance. There was a small amount of pain, but more pleasure. Knowing what was going to happen next, John switched places with Sherlock. He climbed onto the bed and settled on his back with his knees apart beckoning his lover to come to him. John was ravenous with carnal desire that only Sherlock could satiate.

Sherlock took a step and then moaned at the movement of the toy being jostled by the step he took. John was laying on the bed with his legs apart, his back channel waiting to be filled. To test his readiness, Sherlock took the bottle of soothing lube in his hands so he could put some on John, and inside of him. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt his new companion. Easily his finger slipped into John, coating is snug hole with the lube. Then, with a deep moan, he set his head at John's slick entrance, and pushed. Together they moaned with the thrust of Sherlock's hips but he was surprised when John wrapped his legs around his waist; John set his heel against the last bit of black rubber that hadn't been stuffed inside Sherlock.

John growled, "Move…" He set his heel against the protruding phallus and gave it a little nudge. Time seemed to freeze at that moment. Sherlock was inside of John again and all he could think of was how god this felt. John slipped his hands up Sherlock's chest, over his shoulders, and sat up as well as he could. "Move in me." To spur Sherlock on, John jiggled the dildo protruding from Sherlock's stuffed hole. His lover shuddered and then started to move again, slowly at first. Each time Sherlock thrust into John, he would move the phallus in Sherlock so he would be getting as much pleasure. "Harder." John gasped rotating his hips and tensing his muscles to massage Sherlock's hard shaft as it powered in and out of him.

Sherlock fell into a pounding rhythm. He glided in and out of John easily, their skin making a slapping noise each time. John, growling bolder, moved his foot in counterpoint to his thrust's moving the dildo shoved deeply in him. Sherlock wasn't sure how much longer he could stand this pleasurable torment without coming. Freeing one of his hands from the bed, he grasped John's velvet shaft and stroked; slow at first, then quickening his pace to make John as dizzy with pleasure as he was. Up and down his hand moved getting slickened with the pre-cum weeping from John's flushed head. His lover's face flushed and contorted into deep ecstasy. John was close; Sherlock would make him cum as many times as he could before the night was out. "Cum for me," He taunted adding a twist of his wrist going down on John and then back up when he would thrust in and out. "Cum for me."

John as losing his concentration as Sherlock's hand worked him up and down. He was so close to orgasm, to spilling himself into his gothic angel's skilled hand just as he could feel the near climax of Sherlock. One more stroke, and another, and another had John coming. White semen spurted from the head of his cock right onto the flat plane of Sherlock's lower stomach. But this did not stop his lover. Sherlock thrusted faster and faster. Once more. Twice more. Three times, and then four. John cried out as Sherlock came inside of him. He could feel the hot pulses shooting inside of him as he continued to jar the phallus to make sure he finished off Sherlock just as well as John had been finished. Sherlock slammed into once more, falling against him, chest heaving with the effort to breathe. John brought his hands around Sherlock holding him close. "Twice in one day," John mumbled with a chuckle. "I'm glad I met you."

Sherlock rested his forehead on John's chest replying in kind, "I'm glad you came to my rescue." Tenderly, and because some show of affection was needed, Sherlock kissed the flesh above John's pounding heart. "Stay with me tonight." He said moving back to extract himself from John's hole. Suddenly the thought of John dressing and walking out of this bleak house caused Sherlock some measure of panic. "Sleep by my side through the night. Keep me warm." Sherlock was pleading. He never did that. His pride didn't allow it. But here, in this room, with John below him, Sherlock found himself wanting to act in a different manner with a man who saw right through and expected nothing of him other than a kind word, a smile, and a tender touch.

John let his features go gentle, his hands coming to cup, "Of course I'll stay." He smiled knowing that if he turned up at home, he would be subjected to endless questions and insults. John didn't need that now, not when he wanted to stay with Sherlock. He wanted to snuggle into the warmth of his lover as sleep claimed him. John wanted to stay. Dropping his hands down, he reached behind his lover to remove the dildo from Sherlock. His gothic angel dropped his head and moaned. "Under one condition," John smirked. "We take a shower before going back to bed." He chuckled. Sherlock nodded and pulled John off the bed to stand before him. They kissed with Sherlock guiding him around the bed. John pulled back and looked around. There was a door that he hadn't seen before. It had to lead to the bathroom.

MASTER BATH:

Instead of a shower, Sherlock had coaxed John into sharing a bath with him. He reclined back, the warm water covering his chest with John resting between his parted legs. John had his head back, touching Sherlock's shoulder while measuring their hands. Sherlock's fingers were a little longer than John's, leaving his lover to playfully inspect his hand. "What?" Sherlock asked with a chuckle painting that single word. "Why is my hand so fascinating all of a sudden?" John didn't answer him. He just continued to study Sherlock's left hand.

"Your fingers are longer than mine," John muttered turning on his side slightly so he could place his ear to Sherlock's chest and listen to his heartbeat. He could still feel, for the first time, Sherlock's middle finger sliding in and out of his slowly. That made him suck in a sharp breath of air. Memories were powerful. Sherlock was powerful and mesmerizing. John was already becoming lost to him. In his last school he had had girlfriend after girlfriend looking for something that he had yet to find. From the moment he met Sherlock he knew he had found something special that had yet to have a name. What was it between them? Love? Need? Desire? Or some unknown emotion that has yet to have a name? John wasn't sure. All he knew was that he wanted to be with Sherlock for as long as he could and for as long as his plans allowed.

"I have a few other things that are long than yours." Sherlock teased earning him an instant scolding look from John. He tempered the look with a smile and a kiss to the top of John's blond head. The bath was better and it allowed them to languish in the hot water to soothe the muscles that would be sore in the morning. For now the water would keep the pain at bay, at least until the morning. "Although," Sherlock dipped his free hand below the water and took John in his hand again, "You are thicker than I am," Stoking the fires of passion Sherlock started to stroke him again feeling John's member harden.

"Whatever," John mumbled tucking his head under Sherlock's skin trying to battle back another wave of desire boiling in his blood from the feel of Sherlock making him hard all over again. They had had sex twice, but John was quickly realizing that no matter how many times a day he and Sherlock sated their desires, it wouldn't be enough. 'Why couldn't he have been a girl?' John wondered. He knew he wasn't gay. He had seen other men before, but none of them moved him to this state of passion the way Sherlock, with his cheekbones and long hair, did. Maybe it was because Sherlock seemed so vulnerable; it was his eyes that betrayed him.

"I think the next time we," Sherlock didn't want to say have sex, because now, it was more than that. "Make love, I want you inside me." He kissed the top of John's head. Sherlock breathed deeply inhaling the steam to relax and to soothe him. If he wasn't careful he would fall asleep right here in the water and only wake after it had turned frigid. Only, he had no desire to move with John resting so comfortably against him. With John, Sherlock could forget who he was, who he was supposed to be, and the image he was to project for the world. Alone with John in this room, Sherlock was a man, still a genius, but humbled before the eyes of John Watson.


	5. Chapter 5

Summary: A/U John is the new kid and comes to the rescue of a someone he mistakes to be a girl

Disclaimer: I own nothing of BBC Sherlock

Rating: T+

Pairing: John and Sherlock

**THE NEW KID:**

Morning rays filtered in through the drawn curtains of Sherlock's room bringing the genius from his slumber. He was warm, content, and he had a feeling of languid laziness that he hadn't felt before. There was an arm draped across his waist, and all of the day before flooded back to him. John was still there. He had actually stayed. In spite of himself, Sherlock smiled at that. John was still sleeping beside of him. Slowly, carefully, he turned over to stare at John with his sleep tousled hair. There was a smile gracing his lips as he stared. But, unfortunately, they could not languish in bed. It was only Tuesday. If John as to be a doctor, he had to attend school. "John," Sherlock traced the tip of his index finger down the bridge of John's nose. "It's time to wake up." He hated to do this. John looked too peaceful sleeping.

John felt his eyelids flutter open to see Sherlock staring at him wearing a gentle smirk. So, this hadn't been a dream. He had actually had mad passionate sex with this truly beautiful man with the stunning cheekbones. "Can't we just go back to sleep?" John slurred not fully awake smiling at the sound of Sherlock's chuckle. His eyes closed, falling half back into blissful slumber where his weary body demanded that he be. He still had yet to fully regain his strength after yesterday's exertions. School was definitely the last place he wanted to be. John wanted to stay in bed with Sherlock. With that realization, he opened his eyes to star at Sherlock. John wanted to be with Sherlock, after one day. Feeling bold, John quickly kissed Sherlock, and then in a gasp said, "I want to be with you." He chuckled at the puzzlement on Sherlock's face. "Its utter nonsense, but I want to be with you."

Sherlock tentatively brought his hands up to cup John's face and said, "I want to be with you too." He wasn't sure why. John seemed like another mundane regular person who only used a fraction of his brain, but while John had slumbered by him, Sherlock was struck with sudden inspiration on a case he had been working on. There was some aura John radiated that allowed Sherlock's mind to operate at peak efficiency. He sat up, forcing John to sit up as well. "But, if you are to be a Doctor, you actually have to show for school and get good grades." He rolled out of bed striding naked to the walk in closet where his suits were hanging neatly according to tailor and they date they were made.

John shook his head lettings lip another chuckle as he too climbed out of bed to go in search of his scattered clothes. He found his pants and boxers half pushed under the bed along with his white t-shirt, but it had a few stains on it. Leaving it where it was, John retrieved the black shirt Sherlock had given him last night. The fabric was still tight, but stretched comfortable over his chest and barely touched the waistband of his pants. "Now, to find my shoes," John muttered. He remembered taking them off, but where did they end up? Looking under the bed, John didn't see them. So, he got up and went to look by the couch. They were nowhere to be found. "This is maddening." John growled ruffling his hair to dispel the rest of sleep clogging his mind.

Sherlock returned, dressed, and with his hair pulled back into a low pony tail at the nape of his neck to see John mussing his hair to the point it would stand on end before too long. "John," He called to him, and then disappeared inside the closet again. When he came back this time he was carrying a pair of sandals that looked like they would fit John. "Here," He tossed them to John, "It's going to be warm enough for them today." John said nothing and slipped his feet into them. "Would you care for some breakfast?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm actually starving." John answered knowing full well the reason for his hunger. "We didn't exactly get a chance to eat." He pointed out. Sherlock smirked and shrugged. "Of course, we did have other things on our mind last night." John took Sherlock's hand and laced their fingers together. "How are we going to…?" He wasn't sure what he was asking.

"We'll make do." Sherlock answered kissing John's forehead, "But first, let's start with breakfast." He led John through the maze and back down the stairs to the kitchen. As usual Mrs. Hudson was at the stove fixing scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and the toast was buttered waiting to be eaten. Warmly he greeted her, "Good morning Mrs. Hudson," and continuing with his out of character good mood, he gave her a small kiss on the cheek. "Smells good," Sherlock said cheerfully.

"Listen to you," Mrs. Hudson sounded surprised, "All happy." She looked back over her shoulder to see the youngest Holmes sit at the small table with his blond friend. They looked happy, content almost. It was different for Sherlock. Normally he had paid companions. They stayed for a while but left. This blond, John, was different, and Mrs. Hudson was happy that Sherlock had found this young man to connect with.

John leaned into Sherlock whispering, "At least she's not calling me a hooker this morning." He smiled at the shocked look on Mrs. Hudson's face. She looked ashamed that she had jumped to conclusions and then opened her mouth to probably apologize, "Its fine, and flattering to think I was pretty enough to be in that profession."

"Oh, I am terribly ashamed of how I acted." Mrs. Hudson flustered serving up breakfast for both boys. "It's just, Sherlock…"

"Mrs. Hudson, please…" Sherlock stressed her name. Having John know that Sherlock would pay for sex made him uncomfortable. Sherlock felt that the best he could do was paid companions. There were plenty of young men who were willing to be paid if someone knew where to look.

Mrs. Hudson placed the plates in front of both boys and said, "Eat up quickly before you're late for school." She chided them gently. "Your parents are already gone, as well as your brother." Leaning against the counter, she watched both boys scarf down their food. The clock chimed alerting them that they were going to be latte for school. "Alright you two, now off you go." She shooed them from the kitchen and out the back door all the while gently laughing to herself that Sherlock had finally found a friend.

SCHOOL:

John merged with the crowd of people holding tight to Sherlock's hand. He was suddenly so nervous to be parted from Sherlock. So far no one had seemed to notice that the new kid was holding tight to the perpetually bored genius. It was then that he caught sight of his sister. Guilt washed through him that he hadn't gone home to protect her. Leaving Sherlock's side he threaded through the people to get to his sister, "Harry," He reached her seeing she was wearing the same clothes that she had worn the day before. Though, he had no place to point that out mainly because he was in the same jeans.

"I wasn't home last night." Harry immediately halted her brother's flow of words before he could ask. "I stayed with Melanie last night." Melanie was a girl she had met in school and they had similar tastes. John knew that she preferred the company of woman rather than men. It was just how she was.

"Ok," John breathed a sigh of relief turning back to search for Sherlock but his gothic angel had vanished. "Damnit," John muttered and then turned to his sister. "I'm glad you didn't go home." Before his sister could ask, "No, I didn't go home either." A light smile played at the corner of his lips. "I stayed with a new friend."

"What do we do tonight?" Harry asked. The idea of going back to the house where a drunk father beat his kids, abused their mother was not something she was eager to return to.

"We'll play it by ear for now." John replied and turned towards the front doors of the high school. The people flowed through the door carrying John and his sister into the halls where they parted ways to head to their first class. When John walked through the door of his Literature class he was shocked to see Sherlock sitting in the back of the class in the corner. His heart skipped a beat as he walked through the isle to take the seat next to the best dressed person in class.

Sherlock looked up from his book to see John coming towards him. Normally he would have warned him off, but not John. "Was that your sister?" He asked when John sat down, moving his desk a little closer to the one Sherlock habitually sat in at the back of the class. From where he had been, Sherlock could read the recent abuse John's sister had sustained. There was a hint of a black eye, cut to her jaw line. All of it was covered with make-up applied by a skilled hand, likely the mother.

"Yeah," John answered. "She stayed with a friend." He was reluctant to say that said friend was also Harry's girlfriend, but it was good that is sister had a safe haven to go to when things got out of control at their house. There was still just a small amount of guilt tangling John's insides in knots about not going home. He had been completely enraptured with Sherlock to even care, or give a thought, about going home. All that had mattered to him last night was the feel of Sherlock's body pressed tight against him. All he had cared about was the next blinding orgasm that Sherlock could put his body through.

"Has your guilt abated now?" Sherlock asked continuing to read the book he had brought with him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see John staring at him with his mouth open. Slowly Sherlock turned to him and asked, "What? Was I to keep quiet about you feeling guilt over forgetting about your sister?" John's eyes flashed with anger only to be drowned out with more guilt. Sherlock couldn't understand John's feelings about this. His sister was fine as she had stayed at a friend's house.

"Thanks," John slumped in his chair. "Now I feel guilty all over again." He hit his head lightly on the desk mentally chanting, 'Don't forget about Harry' Over and over he rapped his head on the desk until Sherlock's hands stopped him. John stopped beating himself up and then said, "I don't want to go home." His voice was verging on desperation. "But I can't leave Harry…" John drew in a deep breath. "I don't know what do." He whispered in a harsh voice.

Sherlock knew this was the moment that he could turn John away, delve back into his genius for false comfort as he examined the world with his lofty intelligence, but he was not going to do that. "Then you will stay with me. My parents don't care. You will stay with me." Sherlock said with certainty. John looked at him with relief, with amazement, and with gratitude. He also added, "I want to be with you too." Hi voice was a whisper as there were other people in class, those who would not look too kindly on Sherlock actually becoming something akin to a human being. Then, they would have no one to torment.

If they weren't surrounded by other students, or the teacher breezing into the classroom at the bell, John would have kissed Sherlock thoroughly that would have had them looking for the nearest closet. "You mean it?" But by the light in Sherlock's eyes, John didn't really need to ask that. Sherlock didn't get the chance to answer as the teacher called the class to order with taking roll. Instead john reached out to take his lovers hand, lace their fingers together, and squeeze quickly before the teacher could see them.

**LATER THAT AFTERNOON:**

Lunch rolled around with John searching out his sister. He found her sitting under a shade tree with who, he assumed, was Melanie. "Harry, come here for a minute." His sister rolled her eyes but came over to him. Before she could lash out at him for talking to her while they were at school, he put his hands up and said, "Take the rest of the day, go home, get some clothes and ask Melanie if you can stay with her for a while. Lie if you have to. Dad should still be at work while mum is at the shops."

"What about you?" Harry asked. This was something new, her brother had never suggested that they actually leave before. "Where are you going to go?" John said nothing, but looked across the wide expanse of grass to where a dark haired man stood watching a group of people. She smiled at him knowingly, "Just as long as it's safe for you."

"It is." John replied placing his hands on Harry's shoulder. "But we should go now while we can." Looking to Sherlock he signaled him to come over, but Sherlock remained where he was. Fine, John would just have to go to him. He weaved in and out of the people while his sister retrieved her backpack so they could skip the rest of the day to go to their house and pack.

"Everything settled?" Sherlock asked. He wasn't sure how he felt about John leaving him for the rest of the day, but he knew his lover had to retrieve some change of clothes. John couldn't keep wearing the same pair of pants no matter how good they looked on him.

"Yeah, we're going to leave now to pack." John reached for Sherlock's hand discretely. "We'll be back later." Sherlock squeezed his hand in return. John took a step closer to whisper, "Damn all these people." He growled. "If they weren't here I would kiss you with all the passion I have pent up inside of me right now."

"Then hurry back." Sherlock taunted careful to keep his on the passing students. None of them needed to know what he and John were up to, what they would do when he got John back to his home and into his bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Summary: A/U John is the new kid and comes to the rescue of a someone he mistakes to be a girl

Disclaimer: I own nothing of BBC Sherlock

Rating: T+

Pairing: John and Sherlock

**THE NEW KID:**

John had made sure he and Harry hadn't wasted any time in getting to their run down house to pack a few bags. No one looked twice at them as they walked through the streets, but he was sure to keep an eye out for cops. If all went to plan then their father would be suffering a hangover while at work in a bar of all places. There would be enough time to get their stuff and then leave. Street after street went by until they came to their house, but they froze when their father's beat up pick-p truck was parked on the street. "Damnit!" John snapped.

"John," Harry gripped her brother's forearm, "What are we going to do? We can't go in there if he's there." Some days she could care less if her father was drunk, on those days he did them all a favor and drank himself unconscious. Then there were other days when the drink made him as mean as a rattle snake. Those were the days that Harry hated to even come home. "What if he's in there and he's not asleep in that ratty old chair of his. What if he's in there trashing the place looking for one of us to beat on?"

John rested his hands on his sister's shoulder, "Harry, listen to me," He had no idea how they were going to get in and out through the front door; "We'll go in through the window in my room, but you have to be very quiet and not freak out." A little tinge of anger colored his words, but it wasn't anger at his sister, it was anger at his father. Taking Harry's hand, they walked up the driveway and into the back yard where a ladder waited that he had hidden in the bushes. John took the ladder and rested it against the house under his window as quietly as he could. He just hoped he left the window latch unlocked. "Give me a few minutes to check things out and then you come up, ok?"

"Ok," Harry agreed keeping her head on a swivel, watching the back door, the driveway, and the other side of the house. "Just hurry John." She urged. John grabbed her and squeezed reassuring her with a small smile. Then he was climbing the ladder and she was ducking down beside one of the over grown shrubs their father never maintained. The last thing she wanted was to be seen by her father. When he was drunk he was a mean drunk. When he was sober, he was worse. Harry waited for John's signal all the while drawing in gasp after gasping breath.

John went up the ladder as slow and as quietly as he could, but his sister's urging and the desire to get back to Sherlock were riding him to the point of recklessness. He was half way to his window when he heard the faint sound of a bottle breaking. John froze but looked down to his sister. She was partially hidden by the shrubs. For now that would have to be good enough. John climbed the rest of the way to his window, peeked in, and then set to the task of opening it as quietly as he could. The old wood creaked and groaned, but gave way to John raising it up. Swiftly like a thief he slide through the window and landed silently on his feet where he listened for his father. No sound greeted his ears. Maybe just maybe his drunken father was passed out. John poked his head back out the window and knocked his knuckles on the ladder three times signaling his sister to follow him.

Harry quickly scrambled up the ladder and in through the window of her brother's room. He was already packing up is drab olive green duffle full of his clothes, and a few other things that he would need. She skirted around him and was at the threshold of his door when a loud creak echoed through the silent house. Together they froze, not daring to even breathe but nothing happened. She let a few more seconds slip by before she dared to move out of the room and next door where her room was. As quickly as she could, Harry grabbed clothes, any clothes. It didn't matter what she stuffed in her bag so long as she packed and was quick about it. With her bag slung over her shoulder, she stepped out of her room to go to John. He was waiting by the window for her. "Ready?" She whispered as half statement and half question.

"Yeah," John nodded distractedly trying to strain his hearing for the first rumblings of his drunken father, but more than that he wanted to be back with Sherlock. It unsettled him slightly that he had become so close to a young man who made himself an outsider with his intellect as a suit of armor. John went to the window, chucked his duffle out the window and did the same with his sister's bag. He turned back to her and motioned for her to go first out the window. If anyone had to be caught, John would rather it be him rather than his sister. John was stronger and he could take the beating, "Go on, I'll be right behind you."

"Don't be stupid." Harry warned climbing out the window and onto the ladder. She was slow to go down. Ladders scared her when the subtly shifted. Every creak and shake Harry thought she was going to plummet to her death. She made it safely to the ground and looked up to see John coming out the window. Harry envied her brother and the quick decent he made. He was on the ground in no time. As playfully as she could, "I hate you." Harry shook her head when John picked up his bag and hers. She didn't know what drew her gaze, but she looked up to the back porch and saw their father standing at the door watching them. "John…"

John saw the fear stricken look on his sister's face leaving him to turn and look in the same direction she was. There, in the open back door, was their father. He wavered on his feet with stains on the white t-shirt he was wearing, the top button of his jeans as popped open giving his beer gut more room. Harry reached for fear while John held tight to his anger. They weren't going to stay here. He took hold of his sister's hand and slowly started to make a move towards the driveway. "Don't stop." John snarled at his sister.

"John…" Harry tightened her hold on her brother's hand. Her brother was tugging her towards the driveway, towards their escape to freedom. Even if they could run, where would they go? Their father would find them no matter what.

"Just keep moving." John growled keeping his eyes on his father. To his eyes, the drunk looked to be on his second six pack. He wobbled on his feet and stumbled to the three small steps, but John wouldn't stop. Together, he and his sister walked around the porch. When they hit the driveway, that's when they would run for it. They were almost there, almost to the gravel. "Just a few more steps," He encouraged Harry to keep going while he stared down his drunken father. Then his shoes hit gravel. "Run!" he shouted. The gravel crunched under his feet as they ran. John could hear the rumbling, thunderous, footfalls of his father as he tried to run after them.

Sherlock didn't know what had motivated him to find out where John lived. When the annoying woman in the administrator's office wouldn't help him, he had to use his skills at deduction to find his new lover. The cab he had called had just pulled up outside the second possible locations for John's house when he saw John and his sister running down the driveway. He immediately opened the door, calling out, "John!" His lover saw him, bringing a smile to Sherlock's face. "Come on!"

John hadn't expected to see Sherlock, but he was happy when the cab door flung open and there was his gothic angel calling to him. Holding tighter to his sister's hand, John made a beeline for the open cab door so he could scramble inside. The cab door slammed shut and Sherlock was signaling the cabbie to leave. "Does this make you my night in a shining cab?" John asked, his voice full of laughter as his head rested on Sherlock's shoulder. He knew full well that his sister could see how he was reacting towards Sherlock, but he didn't care. "Thanks," John lifted his head and kissed Sherlock sweetly.

HIGH SCHOOL:

Sherlock thought he would have to field questions from John's sister, but when the cabbie brought them back to the high school she left them where they were almost as if she didn't want to be seen with them. Sherlock was about to ask John about it when his blond lover shook his head, chuckling. That left him even more confused than before, but still he remained silent. This time he checked his watch and saw they were already missing the last class of the day so, shrugging, Sherlock took John's hand and pulled him off down the sidewalk towards his residence. John walked with him saying nothing. Sherlock looked at him to see he was wearing a light smile. "What are you smiling at?" He asked genuinely confused.

"Nothing," John shrugged. He was finally happy after only two days. It was strange and preposterous and totally mad, but John Watson was happy. "I still can't get over that you came to save me, in a manner of speaking," John chuckled pulling Sherlock to a stop. "You came for me." He was still so; he didn't know what he was. "No one has ever done that for me before." John answered Sherlock's unspoken question. Quickly John looked around; saw that there was no one. He dropped his bag and pulled Sherlock in for a kiss. It was supposed to be a thank you, but then it morphed into something else. Sherlock slid one of his arms around his waist, and then used is free hand to cup the back of John's head.

Sherlock had never felt stronger feeling towards anyone, not ever. At least not until John Watson had come into his life just two days ago intent upon rescuing him when it was believed that Sherlock was of the fairer sex. Then, he done something else out of character, he had brought John home with him, seduced him, and was quickly losing his heart to the man who had aspirations towards being a doctor and a soldier. Sherlock knew he would suffer in a few short months after John enlisted. "I'm taking you to my bed." He gasped, riding the wave of passion that had come upon him. If John was going to leave him then Sherlock wanted to brand his flesh with the feeling of John as many times as he was able.

John laughed walking with Sherlock like he was walking into his future. For right now he knew there would be nothing more than school or Sherlock. He wanted that. He wanted to be someone else and not just the son of a drunk. That stigma had stained his academics in his last school before they moved. At least here, he had a chance to start over, though he wondered how well that would go now that he was attached to the local 'freak' as others called Sherlock? Though, John didn't care. He was happy. Nothing could touch him now. "What you going to do once you get me in bed?" John asked.

Sherlock stopped and faced John with a playful smirk fixed to his lips. To his right was a large tree that would be perfect to pin John between his body and the trunk of the elm. With each step Sherlock said, "I am going kiss you. I am going to take your clothes off piece by piece. I am going go to my knees and get you hard so that you can take me this time." He pinned John to the tree trunk placing his hand over the bulge in John's pants. "Though, I can already deduce that I will not have to go down on you for long as you are already getting aroused."

John gasped digging his fingers into the front of Sherlock's shirt pulling him as close as he could. "Oh god, Sherlock, you talk in such a way…" He moaned rubbing himself into Sherlock's hand to heighten his pleasure for now. John knew there was much more to come when he and Sherlock were once again sealed inside that maze he called a bedroom. "I want to make you scream." John said placing his mouth close to Sherlock's. "You are going to scream so loud." He promised with a wicked grin. "I suggest we get back to your room as quick as possible." Without a care, John kissed Sherlock quickly, passionately.


End file.
